Seven Stages
by Octovan
Summary: In life, sometimes there are things you have to struggle with in order to come to terms. Benson/Pops, more like fluff though than straight up romance.
1. Denial

Seven Stages

Denial

No. He didn't want to believe it, let alone think about it.

Benson thought about many things. How the park managed to get cleaned up so swiftly after Mordecai and Rigby destroy it like clockwork (Every day, to be precise) without Mr. Mallerd going bankrupt was beyond Benson's comprehension. He wasn't so sure why he liked wearing a bathrobe just to take a bath when there was obviously nothing worth hiding, nor did he understand why video game graphics today are still trapped in the 80's. Why does his apartment have a window that looks out only into the indoor hallway and not outside? And surely his name isn't THAT hard to remember…such trivial things to think about when he has to spend the rest of his waking seconds in a stressed state, worrying about his own ass being fired if he doesn't get the crap HE'S responsible for under control…

Yes, Benson thought about a lot of things. But there was one little thought that has been haunting him all these years as he slaved away at his dead end job; one little nagging voice that overpowered his complaints about not getting enough respect or appreciation or being called the right name or why he can't just relax for five minutes….

"Mr. Lonely…" That's all it said, but the thought always opened a novel of flaws that Benson hated coming to terms to.

Nobody wanted to love a gumball machine. No woman wanted to be with a man that wasn't able to pleasure her…no sane person wanted to be friends with a monster. If only he could close that book and recite his valiant ways for the world to hear! He wasn't as cruel and cold as he was made out to be….

The gumball machine hadn't realized that he had been sitting at his table for the last ten minutes, staring at nothing. Shit, his coffee had gone cold again. But what was the point in heating it back up again? He hated being in these moods…but it was worth a try since he had to go to his doom in a half hour.

As the microwave hummed it's familiar tune, Benson slumped against the counter of his apartment's kitchen and brooded once more about himself. How many more days of this? Of breaking respect and damaging the few relationships he already had? If he somehow died in the future, he didn't want to go down as the modern day Scrooge. It wasn't his fault though; it was Mordecai and Rigby's. If they had never stepped foot in that beautiful park, his life would have been rainbows and unicorns. He would be happier and gay and loved by all his peers, just like Pops…

He almost jumped at the sudden twang he felt in his stomach from thinking of the older man. Pops…sweet innocent, loving Pops…he was the only white cloud on Benson's horizon besides Skips. Unlike the yeti, the lollipop man was always so caring and willing to follow the manager around like an excited puppy. He was the only one who seemed interested in what Benson thought or did; he was the only one who made the metallic being smile and feel warm inside with his little games and those cozy smiles…but at the same time, Pops only made Mr. Lonely's situation worse.

For the longest time, Benson had the notion that Pops skipped in the other direction, to put it fairly. The older man was just too cute and childish to take a relationship with a woman seriously. His mannerisms, the way he talked, the way he moved, the high interest he held in all of his male companions made it impossible for Benson to believe that he was straight. But that was ok, really. In fact, he liked it that way; if it was any other situation, then Benson's fluffy little cloud would be gone from his sky the second Mrs. Right came along.

But did that mean that Benson was gay too? It was a touchy subject he preferred not to think about. Sure, he needed Pops' company to keep him sane, and he really appreciated the guy….but he just couldn't be. He didn't want to fall in love with anyone regardless of gender because all he expected was rejection and mocking laughter…but the thing that scared him the most was that his only true friend might be too interested in the living machine he pined to be around with.

His fingers tapped impatiently as he watched the microwave, wishing it would take longer.

No, he didn't want to be in love, because nobody would love a monster like him.


	2. Guilt

Guilt

Today, like all other days, was the worst day of his life.

How can a raccoon and a blue jay cause so much havoc every single day and completely obliterate their environment and still have a job? As much of a headache it caused him, Benson knew the answer. Mordecai and Rigby were master bullshit artists. It never ceased to amaze him just how much they whined and complained about the simplest of tasks, but actually stepped up and grew a pair in the heat of their own problems to fix and act like nothing has happened in the first place. It pissed Benson off; they were always the ones who got off scott free, but who had to stay behind and take the abuse of a foul tempered boss? The whipping boy of course. One would never think that polished metal could cover up so many scars.

Today just happened to be complete chaos, but at this point it was a regular day…that is, if you were used to this kind of crap. Mordecai and Rigby were playing another one of their stupid video games again (Did anything good ever come out of this activity?), and once again, something horribly, horribly wrong took place….only this time Pops was involved.

"Oh goody! I can't wait to see you boys defeat the Band Hero!" The lollipop man clapped excitedly. After 30 plus hours of perfecting every useless song in the game, downing enough energy drinks to kill a bull elephant and consuming enough pizza to feed two football teams, Mordecai and Rigby were finally able to challenge the king of virtual rock and roll.

"Dude, not that song!" Mordecai groaned loudly. "We played that one like, 20 times!"

"Yeah, and it's the one I can kick butt in with my eyes closed!" Rigby retorted, not even noticing Benson walking into the room.

The gumball machine had to resist the urge to face palm himself. "Well well, what a surprise…" He sneered at the sight of the two morons doing what they did best; seeing his superior there, however, was new. He stood there like the big white elephant in the room, his presence known but not acknowledged. "Well? Are you going to do work or am I going to have to haul your lazy asses outside instead?" He could feel his glass heating up as his irritation spiked. There was no way he was going to slave outside all day with a rake and garbage bag, on the most simple tasks, because two losers felt that killing their livers and brain cells was more important.

"Calm down Benson, geez. We're almost done." Mordecai said blandly as he strummed his guitar in tune to the notes on the screen. Benson growled and looked at the television; wow, that rockstar boss looked soooooo tough….

"Yeah. Don't you have something better to do?" Rigby piped back. That does it.

Benson's face turned it's oh so famous shade of violent red. His grip on the clipboard in his hand was so strong that he ended up snapping a good sized chunk out of the particle board. "WHAT DID YOU SAY?" He hissed, slamming the piece onto the ground and clenching his fists- how dare they call him out on shit they were supposed to be doing!

Pops seemed to be the only one who registered Benson's anger as actually threatening. He stood up and held his hands out defensively. "Benson, please old chap! We're just having some fun!" Normally Benson would just let that explanation fly over his head, but seeing the concern in those childish eyes…he sighed and relented a bit. Pops smiled excitedly, stepping back to try and offer his good friend a seat. However, walking backwards (and having a huge head) was not easy; he ended up stumbling over one of the torn cords to the guitars, falling over and somehow getting sucked into the television.

"Woah dude! What the hell?" Mordecai dropped his guitar in surprise; the controller crashed to the ground, and like the worn wires that Pops tripped over, the plastic instrument gave a jolt. The television flashed and started sucking Mordecai into it. Panicking, he grabbed Rigby out of fear, pulling him into the virtual world with him.

Benson stood there, numb. He hated hearing their voices, but the screams of fear…just like the cries in the past, he was just shaken to his metallic core at the sharp screams. When the initial shock wore off, he raced over to the television and tapped at the screen. Wait, why was he trying to save them? Mordecai and Rigby he could honestly care less about- they always found a solution, but Pops…well, the gumball machine feared for the naïve man's safety. "Come on! Open up you bastard!" he insulted the rockstar boss on the screen, but nothing happened.

"Shit!" Now he was freaking out; what could happen? Wait, what would happen to HIM if Mr. Mallerd found out? Skips…dammit, where was the yeti when he needed him? No time. The boss was busy torturing the trio and biting the head off of a virtual rat. Benson had to force himself to think; his eyes found the guitar that Mordecai had dropped. He took a deep breath before he grabbed it, smashed it against the table, and remembered to hold on tight to the instrument as he was sucked into the television set.

"Benson! Dude help us! He won't stop eating rats!" Mordecai called out to his friend. Benson looked to the rockstar and scowled before he sliced the cords binding his coworkers with his guitar- woah, how did the thing go from a plastic dull piece to a sharp metal stringed instrument?

"You dare challenge me? Pathetic roadie!" The fat rocker laughed as he tossed his snack aside and picked up his guitar. Benson looked at his own before offering it to Mordecai.

"Here. It's your own stupid game."

"Benson, didn't you see us suck eggs at band night?" Rigby yelped, pushing the guitar away when it was offered to him.

"What the hell? I just saw you playing with this twenty seconds ago!" the park manager's irritation was not the most helpful thing at the moment. Then he realized why Mordecai or Rigby couldn't handle this: this guitar now had strings, not large bright buttons. Running out of options, Benson looked to Pops, even though he knew the man was more gifted in watering flowers than he was being a musician. Seeing as he had no other choice, Benson positioned his fingers and nodded to his opponent.

His competition put up a pretty mean song; no wonder he was the boss! But Benson wore his trademark unimpressed face. When it was his turn he started with a few small notes, keeping quiet and broken.

"Dude….we are so dead." Rigby paled (if possible, given his coat). But then….it happened.

One of Benson's deepest secrets was that he used to be in a band once, and secretly practiced every night for two hours when he got home from work; it was the only thing that he could actually do to keep his sanity than pace around his apartment like a dog in heat or watch television until his eyes fell out. When he started to pick up the pace, it was like listening to the lead guitarist of the band Boston. He shredded the notes perfectly as if he was some music angel sent from the rock and roll heavens. The end of his guitar started to spark and glow as it wailed like a keytar. "Who's the roadie now?" Benson screamed back before he fired a strong blast from his instrument that shot through the pixilated man, exploding him, and creating a vortex back into the regular world.

After the last note was struck, Benson dropped the guitar as if it were the most disgusting thing he had ever touched, letting the note echo dramatically. He kept his back towards his coworkers while they stood there, dumbstruck. When he was on the other side of that portal, he picked up his clipboard in a stiff silence.

"Benson….that…was….AWESOME!" Rigby squealed happily.

"Ahhh yeah!" Mordecai slapped his boss on the back playfully, but was met with a sudden outburst.

"Don't even touch me, you goddamn idiot!" Benson was red again, and this time, there was no hollow threats. He didn't know why he was so angry. Normally he would just walk away, but when he saw Pops standing near the television in a sheepish manner, he was reminded why.

"And you! What the hell were you thinking, hanging out with them?" he snapped. Pops looked at Benson as if he was sprouting big green boils.

'But…but they were playing a game and it seemed fun…" he replied quietly, twiddling his fingers.

"Fun? FUN? Those two imbeciles are walking time bombs! They could have blown their eardrums out for all I care, but you had no business following them into danger like that!"

Pops was surprised that Benson was acting so protective of him; he honestly didn't know what to say. He looked over to Mordecai and Rigby, who were standing there again with their mouths open, shocked at Benson's outburst. "But-"

"No buts! You shouldn't be even around them, Pops! They are a hazard to everything! I don't even know why you decide to keep their lazy asses around when all they are good for is being parasites! But you just had to hang around with them because you are too goddamn childish to do anything useful around the park!" He could almost feel his teeth cracking because he was clenching him so hard. Benson took a moment to wait for a reaction, but then he saw the looks on the trio's faces, he realized what he just said in every toxic word.

Pops' face slowly contorted into one of anger. "Well, I am sorry that I like to have fun and go on adventures with my friends!" He put his nose in the air and placed his hand on his heart to look more important, "But what about you, old boy? You work too much and are no fun! I…I am very hurt that you would say mean things to Mordecai and Rigby…" tears were rimming the older man's eyes as he made his own fists. He sniffed. "I don't want to be like a regular adult. I enjoy your companionship but I can see that I am no longer worth your time…" He turned and walked out the door with a strong stride, but only a fool would fail to see that he didn't break a little on the way out. Mordecai and Rigby crossed their arms and looked at Benson.

"Gee, Benson, tell us how you really feel, why don't ya." Mordecai scowled.

'Yeah! What's in those crappy gumballs of yours? Dog turds and battery acid? C'mon, Mordecai. Let's go see Muscle Man."

'You said it bro." The blue jay shoved Benson out of the way as they left; on the way out, he paused and turned back to shoot a glare at him. "You know, when you played that guitar, for once I thought you were cool."

Benson watched him leave, suddenly feeling like the loneliest man in the world. He sank down onto the couch and curled up into a fetal position. He felt numb. Even Pops had left him; Pops, the only man to have remained by Benson's side to help calm him down. Pops, who bought Benson ice cream and listened to every word the gumball machine said and admiring him for his dedication nonetheless. Now, where was Pops? Away and disgusted.

The gumball machine closed his eyes and buried his face in his hands, listening to the sounds of his unloved candies. For once, he wished he was a human, because nothing good would come from hanging himself with the kitchen's ceiling fan.


	3. Anger

**I figured that now would be a good time to update- I wrote this pretty quickly since I need to run an errand, so forgive me if it feels rushed or too short, but this is a short story after all: you don't need long chapters to have a good story, am I right?**

When Benson returned home that evening, he went on one of his usual tirades: punching walls, kicking chairs, smashing dining wear…the usual victims. He couldn't think straight, he was so pissed. "HOW DARE THEY! THOSE NO GOOD….USELESS….LAZY…..BRATTY….." He was getting dangerously close to the point of snapping his teeth out of their sockets because he was grinding them so hard; his burning glass eyes were searing holes into his pillow while strong metallic hands slugged and beat out every soft goose feather inside.

"Hey! Shut the hell up!" His ceiling snapped back with a muffled tone, followed by agitated thumping.

"You shut up! Leave me the hell alone!" The pissed off gumball machine hissed in return, shaking his fist. "Today was the worst day of my life!"

"What's new?" God, he hated his neighbors. So nosy….but if he wanted noise, Benson would surely deliver. He looked over at his neglected drum set near his bedroom window, sneering cruelly; he never had the opportunity to let his real passion shine since apartment dwellers didn't take too kindly to the smashing of drums, but to strum a guitar that wasn't plugged in was peachy keen…he hated how strict his life was.

So many guidelines, so many rules to follow. Don't do that, Been-teen! What's wrong with you, Benson? Why are you always so disappointing? Why can't you be cool?

He hated it. Hated his job, hated his own anger, hated his pathetic life. Now his coworkers absolutely loathed him for saving their stupid asses and voicing what he really felt….and one of his closest friends was now distant from him. It sucked. It sucked so hard.

He slumped against his precious drums, clutching one of the sticks so hard it almost snapped in half. He had his glass head pressed against one of the main pieces, wondering just how painful it would be if he suddenly smashed his fragile head against it…wait, suicide? What the hell was wrong with him?

"You are pathetic, Benson." He growled to himself, getting up and throwing the drumstick down carelessly as he trudged to the bathroom and took a hard look at himself. "So something goes wrong, again, and you want to kill yourself." His reflection was just as sour, delivering no hope or assurance that everything will be just fine. "You don't have any friends, your girlfriend left you, and nobody would ever care about loving you." His eyes slowly hardened into a toxic stair as he suddenly lifted his hand up and punched his mirror, allowing the shattered remnants splash against his face. He picked up one large, jagged piece and looked down at his heart shaped crank. "You don't deserve this!" He jammed it into his slot and turned the piece, smashing the mirror fragment into further shards inside of him and stalling the crank in the process- the broken glass stung hard as it tumbled into his sensitive gear system, but the pain only spiked his anger further.

He clutched the sink for dear life as his insides clanked and screeched from the painful confetti that marred them. He grasped at his crank again and tried to turn it, but one shard was jammed in just right to prevent it from turning further. Snarling in rage at his own stupidity and how lousy his body was, he turned it again with such force that it caused the shard to explode, derailing a gear inside the crank with then completely broke it. Benson howled in pain, slipping on the shower mat beneath his feet and collapsed onto the grimy tile floor. The impact knocked any piss and vinegar out of him as he fought to gather his breath, vision spinning. He closed his eyes and fought for air to returned to his starved, artificial lungs. "What the hell is wrong with me…" He whispered gently, bringing a cold hand to cover his forehead. "I need help….I really do…" When his vision was restored and his head ceased to feel light, he looked at some of the carnage he caused in his senseless anger, frowning. He would bet that in a few more minutes, the manager would be banging at his door demanding money for broken property and threatening to call the cops…

"This is why nobody would ever love you, Benson. Pathetic."


	4. Depression

Benson's frustrations had gotten so severe that he was losing track of everything- how long has it been since he last went to work, and when was the last time he opened his blinds to let the sunlight in? All he knew was that after a few painful hours of awkward rinsing, he had managed to clean his insides out.

The gumball machine just couldn't run anymore on his anger; despite only being in his early twenties, he looked and acted like he was ten to fifteen years older. Creaking joints, etched in rings under his eyes…he just felt plain terrible. It was getting more uncomfortable for him to produce his precious gumballs, but he figured that was just part of his pent up emotions and exhausted body. The sugary orbs jostled around in his glass head as he slumped further into his broken in chair, watching mindless sitcoms on the telly.

He was just so exhausted…as every minute ticked by, his vision blurred more and more as the bright tones flashed from the screen. It was all just background noise anyway. He sighed, looking up at the ceiling and grabbed the TV remote. "I hate this show anyway…."

After his meltdown a few days ago, he had been surprised at how…calm and lazy he had become, but that came with a price. Waking up every morning was as bitter as salt pouring into his burning wounds, for the first things he remembered was how angry Pops and the other boys were, and how stupid he himself was for nearly killing himself and for destroying the one haven that he had worked so hard to keep. As his mind kept stewing over the events, he was finding himself becoming more reluctant to do anything that he normally enjoyed; the only thing that was soothing was just…sitting. Sitting and watching tv. But the most soothing thing he could think of doing was a torture. His mind was infected by his previous stubbornness, which in turn slowly ate at his self esteem and confidence until he found himself practically dead inside, like right now.

"I wonder what they are doing right now…" He said softly to himself. "Maybe they are getting along well without me…maybe Mordecai and Rigby are actually working because I am not there to dictate their efficiency…" He closed his eyes and frowned. "Maybe Pops took over my job, and everything is better because I just dragged everyone down because I am such a loser-"

His grieving thoughts were distracted when the sharp ringing of his phone sounded off. Slowly turning his head towards the device, he decided to just let it ring, only moving to turn on the speaker for the voicemail.

"_Hey, it's Benson. I am not here right now- leave your name and number and I will get back to you later."_

Hearing his own bored, tense voice made butterflies form in his artificial stomach. As the recorded message ended and the boring beep followed, he clutched his armrest in anticipation; was it Maellard calling to scold him for skipping work, or to tell him that he was fired? Could Mordecai and Rigby be making a mocking prank call on him, or was Skips going to deliver bad news about the park due to the manager's absence?

He was surprised to find out that the caller was none of the ones that he was fearing.

"Erm, hello?" The sweet voice of Pops radiated from the speaker as the message started to record. "I am calling for Benson, but nobody is answering me…" Poor, kind little Pops, not knowing that the days of telephone operators forwarding calls was long gone, "Well then, I hate to be a bother, but I was calling to let Benson know that I forgive him for what happened between us earlier…and um…" He seemed to be just as nervous as Benson was at the moment (the gumball machine was now leaning at the very edge of his chair), "I wanted to tell him that everyone at the park misses him dearly…" There was a painful silence on Pops' end, but for some reason Benson was too guilty from the trouble he caused to even pick up the phone. He was convinced that Pops was just going to hang up there, but was surprised that there was a sweet little finale to this surprise message. "And I miss my jolly old friend dearly, and I think about him everyday when I enjoy my candies…" Poor Pops sounded like he was on the verge of crying, and he hung up the phone from that point, as if he was too hurt and shy to keep going. Benson frowned, leaning back in his chair. He closed his eyes, but quickly opened them when they suddenly started to sting. As he reached up to try and rub them better, he was saddened even more to find out that he was crying.

"Oh Pops…I feel so alone without you." He drew his long legs up and curled up into as best of a ball that he could manage. "I could use a lollipop right now…"


End file.
